Death. We know we are going to end up there eventually. Nobody lives forever, except maybe Dracula. But the undead are not my concern. Your humble author has died twice. Didn't want to, but sometimes ya get sick and it happens like that. My personal experience of ying was having Pat Sajak, of all people, as the reaper, beckoning me into the abyss. He didn't make any corny jokes or anything, and he just extended his hand. I don't even like Wheel of Fortune! He extended his hand and beckoned. Didn't say a goddamn word, and where the fuck was Vanna White? I'd rather have her offering me a lawn mower to pursue my un-life. I was like "I ain't buying a vowel or any of this shit!" Still ended up dead. I call it the Dark Black, because that's pretty much what it is. Just like...not anything. They always say the same shit when they get you to life again. "Oh, hey, we kinda lost ya there." "I'm not a set of car keys; what do you mean you lost me?" "You, uh, kinda were dead for a while." "Fuck, how long?" "Entirely too long." "Am I...okay?" "Far as we can tell." "Okay. Uh, I guess I'm alright with that." "Glad to help." "Still not sure I trust you, Greg."
The first time was rather mundane. Renal failure is a buttsucker (I got better, obviously). The second time, I was shitting blood into the toilet; fresh blood. I lost so much that I couldn’t move and was on the floor. I had the energy to call a friend. "Come take me to the hospital. I lost a lot of blood, out of my fucking ass, and can't move." "I'm too drunk. Take an Uber." "It's 11 a.m.! Get your drunk ass in the car and take me to the hospital!"
Assuredly, I was drunkenly toted to the hospital and seen ASAP. "How much blood do you think you lost?” said the nurse. "I am not an ass blood expert, but so much that I can barely walk." "Oh, uh, that’s not good." I was put into a wheelchair and hustled out promptly. I spent the next five days shitting into a plastic cowboy hat with graduations so they can see how much blood is actually coming out of my ass, in units of metric blood shits. The conclusion came: too much. Then, I died again, but not for too long. They said the same thing. "Why do you always say that?" "Er, that's what they told us in school. Relaxes people and assures them they are in good hands." "A little cheesy, though, don't you think? I was fucking dead." "Well, I don't know what to tell you." "Next time, hopefully there isn't one, but say something different, like ‘Welcome back, you formerly dead-ass bitch!'" "I dunno if I'm allowed to say that." "Fine, you alive-ass bitch."The thing that catches you is that once you come back, you are tired as fuck! I literally took the nap of all naps! The dirt nap! Why am I completely exhausted?
So, how did they fix me? Well, apparently, I had massive hemorrhoids because of renal failure. So, you apparently just bleed to death out your butthole. The solution? "We can fix this with robotic lasers!" "Oh, fuck yeah!" "They will have to, unfortunately, go into your rectum." "Are you serious? Ass lasers will save my life?" "Well, if you want to put it that way... yes." "Oh, this just keeps getting better." So, imagine a very large robot cock, and it's gonna fuck you in the ass. It did. It was not what I'd call a fun time, but it did cauterize my ass wounds, and I no longer had to die from anus blood. But jeez, I'll tell ya, my ass was sore for weeks because I got medically robot ass-fucked. Better than dying again, I guess.
So now that my horror story is told, let us talk about humans and our relationship with death. We've always considered it. Some celebrate it, some lament, and some believe their people will come back in new bodies to meet them again. Death has been regarded as a blessing or a sad end. We will see who thinks what about it, typically in a spiritual context, but sometimes in a secular one.
New Orleans Jazz Funeral
If you are well-regarded (not sure how well-regarded you have to be) in New Orleans, when you die, you get a funeral procession down a main street, with a jazz band playing in your honor.
This, to me, sounds fucking awesome. It is optional to have the casket in procession, held by pallbearers, who are likely thinking, "Guy was great and all, but why do I gotta carry him? Can't I be one of the guys playing trombone?" "You should have taken band class more seriously," says Grandma.
South Korean Rules
They passed a weird law in 2000 that says after 60 years, if you bury them, you gotta dig them up! I guess that falls on the most recent generation. "Dad, really?" "Here is your shovel, Son. You do not want to be an asshole." "No, Father." So what do they do after that? Well, there is always the option to cremate them, and there is a trend of selling the ashes to companies that compress them into gems. They are called "death beads," or "remembrance jewelry." Imagine wearing great-grandma as earrings.
Sky Burial
Not quite a burial, but Buddhists are rowdy 'bout it. They believe in transmigration of the soul, and that when ya die, you're an empty corpse shell who will return. So what do they do with their dead? Well, they hack them into keen slices, stick them on top of a mountain, and let vultures eat them. Who is the guy they send to haul up the pieces of Brother Yang? Must be an intern.
Green Burials
This is a fairly new concept. They wedge your dead ass into some kind of wooden capsule and bury it, while planting trees on top of you, so you fertilize said trees. I asked two friends, "What kind of tree would you want planted over your fucking dead-ass body?" One answer: "Gardenia; they smell great." The other "An apple or cherry tree, so people can eat the fruit." Very egalitarian. I'm going with Japanese maple, myself, because why the fuck not?
Famadihana
A ritual from Madagascar. I have zero idea how to pronounce that. I'm thinking "FA-MA-DE-HA-NA." No idea. Either way, it's a hell of a thing. It translates to "dancing with the dead." What is it? Well, they dig up their dead and give them fresh, new clothes. This is ostensibly to help them decompose faster. They sing and eat while doing so, and it's basically a party, but like yo, you buying dead people new clothes?
Indian Parade
Oddly, a tradition from Varanasi, India, that involves parading the dead through the streets, with the dead bodies dressed in colors that are supposed to highlight the virtues of the deceased (red for purity or yellow for knowledge, that sort of thing), so India got dead bodies wearing pimp coats. I mean, there are worse ways to have your life celebrated than being dressed up like an absolute player and marched around town. Everyone involved dresses up like peacocks to supplement.
Those are the most interesting death rituals I could find.
Don't die. It's not very fun. But if you do, I hope all your friends parade you around like "dude is wearing purple because he was a nice fucker."
Enjoy the life we get.
-Wombstretcha
Wombstretcha the Magnificent is currently not dead, a UV-reactive Swedish Fish, enthusiast of not being dead, writer, and retired rapper from Portland, OR. He can be found at his website, Wombstretcha.com, on Twitter/X/whatever as @Wombstretcha503, and on MeWe and (begrudgingly) Facebook, as "Wombstretcha the Magnificent."
